Think Of Me
by Child of Dreams
Summary: What if Christine had never gotten the chance to play Aminta in the Phantom's Opera? What if, immediately following the Bal Masque, she and Raoul disappeared from Paris? "CATEGORY WINNER FOR 'MOST TWISTED'"! 2004 MOVIE-VERSE! WARNING: EXTREME FOP-BASHING! E/C, AS ALWAYS...


**Think Of Me**  
 **By: Child of Dreams**

 **Disclaimer: Child of Dreams does not own the rights to Phantom of the Opera.  
She does, however, own the rights to this story, along with all other fics posted under her PenName.  
Now, start reading and don't forget to leave a review... or I'll have Erik punjab you!  
MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

* * *

 _Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye,  
Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try...  
When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free,  
If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me..._

* * *

December 31, 1871  
Paris, France

Seventeen-year-old Christine Daaé coughed and wheezed, her lungs on fire and skin damp with perspiration.  
She was so hot...  
She could hear the icy wind howling outside, rattling the thin glass of the windowpane.  
Oh, how she wished someone would open the window...

Letting out a weak moan, she shifted restlessly underneath the pile of blankets covering her and felt a cool, gloved hand tenderly caressing her cheek.  
The 17 year old emitted a soft sigh and relaxed against her pillows.  
Oh, that felt heavenly!

She could hear voices talking around her, two females - the older female voice sounded motherly, protective and stern while the younger female was hysterical and wouldn't stop shrieking - and a male - oh, his voice was so beautiful, it sounded like angels... Christine could happily listen to this man's voice forever!  
She tried to make out what the voices were saying, but her head was too clouded with fever to decipher the individual words and she soon slipped into unconsciousness, her weary mind drifting off into blissful dreams as the familiar strains of her father's violin began to play a gentle lullaby.

* * *

Erik's POV

One year.  
It had been exactly one year since the masked figure had presented his life's work to those two fools who dared call themselves managers.  
One full year since he had last seen _her_...

"Christine..." Erik moaned, collapsing to his knees and sobbing uncontrollably.  
Suddenly, an alarm went off and the masked man jerked abruptly to attention, his emerald-green eyes instantly hardening as he snatched up his punjab lasso.  
After all, it never hurt for one to be prepared in case of emergencies...

[Time Skip]

"The answer is NO, Giry!" Erik hissed coldly, his hand clenching and unclenching the thin length of rope.  
However the indomitable ballet mistress refused to be cowed and just stared evenly at him.  
The masked man glared back, just as stubborn.  
He didn't owe Christine anything!  
She BETRAYED Erik! Ran off with that BOY!  
Why should he care one whit what happened to the little tart after that?

And yet... there had been rumors...  
Rumors that the boy and Christine had, for some unknown reason, called off their engagement.

Oh yes, Erik knew all about that.  
After he had seen her at the Bal Masque, wearing the boy's ring on a chain around her neck, it was obvious that the Fop had proposed.  
And then the two of them had disappeared from Paris altogether, presumedly having eloped and moved to some foreign country to start a new life together.

But what if they hadn't?  
What if _she_ hadn't?  
Could it be possible?  
Dare he hope?

A few hours later, Giry was leading him through the narrow streets and twisting alleyways to her small flat.  
Inserting her key into the lock, she opened the door and entered, Erik following close behind.  
Almost immediately, a petite blonde rushed into the entryway.  
"Maman, you're back!"

And then Meg noticed the imposing figure standing behind her mother.  
The blonde paled and stepped back slightly, letting out a frightened squeak.  
"M-Maman?" her voice shook fearfully, "what is _he_ doing here?"  
" _He_ has come to see Christine," Antoinette replied in a matter-of-fact tone.  
"Yes, but why now?" the blonde hissed furiously.  
"She has been like this for weeks, perhaps even months, and he's never cared before!"

Erik felt his heart seize with sudden fear.  
Weeks? Months?  
Been like what?  
What were they talking about?

"What are you talking about?" he demanded anxiously.  
"What's wrong with Christine?"  
Meg scoffed and walked out of the room without a word, while Antoinette just gave him a pitying look.  
"Come with me, Monsieur," she said at last.  
"I shall take you to her."

* * *

[Time Skip]

Erik let out a horrified gasp as his eyes fell on the figure lying in the bed, the walls that he had so painstakingly erected around his heart over the past year instantly crashing down.  
It was definitely his Christine, but what in Sweet Music's name had happened to her?

She was so thin!  
And her face!  
Her poor face was gaunt and hollowed out, her eyes ringed with dark circles.  
She looked half-starved!  
And to make matters worse, he could see her head tossing restlessly, her cheeks flushed with fever.

"WHAT. HAPPENED?" the masked man ground out through tightly clenched teeth.  
Madame Giry gazed impassively back.  
"Ask the Vicomte," she replied and Erik's eyes narrowed dangerously.  
"The two of them disappeared from Paris right after the Bal Masque, and then after nearly a year of searching, we received a letter saying that he had had her locked away in an asylum in Rouen!"

At this revelation, Erik let out a cry of rage.  
"That... my Christine... how dare he... kill him!" the masked man snarled furiously.  
At his outburst, Christine whimpered slightly in her sleep and Erik immediately flew to her side, tenderly caressing her feverish cheek and stroking her sweaty hair away from her forehead, cursing at the dangerous levels of heat he could feel radiating from her skin.  
"Shhh, _Mon_ _Ange_ , Erik is here..." he cooed into her ear, watching anxiously as she calmed instantly at the sound of his voice.

As he gazed down at the sickly, malnourished form, his hardened heart broke.  
He knew that she wouldn't survive long in her present condition.  
And he doubted that he could survive losing her a second time either.

* * *

 _Christine's POV_

 _Darkness.  
That was all she knew.  
Darkness and silence and a strange feeling of something that should be there, but wasn't.  
And yet, Christine couldn't bring herself to care.  
It was peaceful here with no worries.  
Here, there was no more pain, no more loneliness, no more waking up every morning feeling like half of your soul has been ripped to shreds and forcibly removed and the remaining piece in tatters, left to mourn its missing half.  
Here, she could simply be, with no expectations.  
And so she drifted._

* * *

Erik's POV

Christine was dying.  
Erik could see that as clearly as he could see the snow on the other side of the window.  
Her every precious breath seemed to take more effort than the last and the color in her cheeks had faded to a ghostly pallor.  
Checking the pulse at her throat, he found that her heartbeat had slowed drastically.

Taking hold of her limp hand, he gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and felt her fingers give a faint twitch in response, depite the fact that she remained as deeply unconscious as ever.  
"Christine, come back," the masked man pleaded desperately, his voice choked with tears.  
"Please come back... don't die... please don't leave me..."

* * *

 _Christine's POV_

 _It was still dark, but a light had appeared.  
It was so beautiful, so bright... Christine found herself moving toward it almost before she had realized what she was doing.  
Inside the light, she could see her father waiting for her with a gentle smile, beckoning her forward, and she quickened her pace.  
Just as she reached him and was about to take his oustretched hand, though, she heard a sudden cry of anguish and paused, glancing backwards uncertainly.  
What was that?_

* * *

Erik's POV

She was dead.  
Erik let out an anguished cry, burying his face in her neck as he began to sob - harsh, violent sobs that wracked his thin frame as he clutched Christine's lifeless form tightly to his chest.  
Behind him, he could hear Little Giry wailing and her mother trying to comfort her despite her own grief, but he hardly paid attention.  
All of his focus was on the limp body in his arms - Christine's body, which was growing colder and paler by the minute now that all life had left her.  
Oh, his sweet _Ange_...

* * *

 _Christine's POV_

 _Christine stared in horror at the sight of the masked man weeping as though his entire world had just shattered - or been completely obliterated, she thought wryly - a young woman with curly brown hair clutched tightly to his chest as he rocked back and forth, his tears falling on her unnaturally pale face.  
Who was that man, and what was he to her?  
For surely there had to be a reason as to why seeing him so thoroughly undone was tearing at her heart, her very soul screaming at her to go and comfort him, to kiss away his tears..._

 _Suddenly, a flash of memory struck her._

 _The Bal Masque had just ended, and Christine was still reeling from the sight of her Angel after three months of his absence.  
What had happened to him?  
His eyes were so cold, so hard - the last time she'd seen them, they were warm and gentle, full of tenderness and... dare she say, love..._

 _Was this her fault?  
Had she done this to him by wearing another's ring?_

 _Oh, but he must know that she hadn't yet accepted Raoul's proposal, and she'd told Raoul as such.  
However he had asked her to keep the ring until she had come to a decision, though, and she had seen no harm in agreeing.  
But she still belonged to her Angel!  
Yes, she would tell Raoul that she couldn't marry him and then everything would be fine._

 _Seeing a flash of blonde hair among the sea of people, Christine forced her way through the crowd.  
"Raoul!" she called out urgently, and suddenly he was there at her side as he slid his rapier back into its sheath._

 _With a sick sense of horror, she saw blood on the tip.  
"Mon Dieu!" she gasped, her face paling rapidly.  
"Raoul, what have you done?"_

 _Twisting out of his grip, she tore out of the ballroom, making for her dressing room and the mirror, desperate to make sure that her Angel wasn't seriously wounded, that Raoul hadn't killed him...  
She was halfway there when Raoul caught up with her and grabbed hold of her.  
"Christine!" he shouted, shaking her roughly.  
"What do you think you're doing?"_

 _Ripping herself out of his grasp, she glared furiously at him.  
"Making sure that you haven't killed him!" she snapped back heatedly.  
"And if I did?" he countered back, eyes hard,_

 _Christine let out a hysterical cry and tore the ring from her throat, flinging it at him.  
"Then you can take back your thrice-damned proposal, Raoul Louis Philippe de Chagny!" she shrieked furiously.  
"I will NEVER marry you!"_

 _That was the last thing she said to him because the next thing she knew he had hit her hard over the head, and then when she woke, Raoul was gone. the Opera House was gone and she was in a cold dark room with a single barred window, a filth-encrusted floor covered with straw and rats crawling everywhere._

 _Christine gasped as the flashback ended and she looked at the masked man with new eyes.  
Ange!  
Her Angel was alive! Raoul hadn't killed him!  
But then her eyes fell on what she now recognized as her own body, lying still and lifeless in her Angel's grief-stricken embrace.  
It was easy to see that she was dead.  
Could she even go back?  
And yet... as she took one final glance back at her father who was smiling sadly, yet understandingly at her, as though he already knew what she had decided... she knew that she at least had to try.  
She owed him - and herself - that much, at least.  
And she would be damned if she let Raoul win, now that she knew her Angel was alive!_

 _"I'm coming, Mon Ange!" she called as she took off running.  
"Wait for me..."_

* * *

Erik's POV

He pulled Christine's limp form closer, his body hunched over hers as the sobs tore through him.  
Some part of his mind registered that the two Girys had left the room, but he hardly cared.  
Christine was dead.  
What did he have to live for now?  
All light, all hope, all chance for happiness - now gone forever with the stopping of a single, precious heartbeat.  
 _"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_ he screamed in denial, his tears soaking into her curly brown hair.

* * *

 _Christine's POV_

 _A dark, endless tunnel.  
An achingly familiar Voice resonating inside her head.  
And then light - white, white light that seemed to burn with its very brightness._

* * *

Christine gasped, feeling as if she had been doused in water and then gotten kicked by a horse.  
Her chest was tight and her body was heavy.  
Even breathing hurt.  
She tried to turn her body to find a more comfortable position, but she was far too tired.  
Opening her eyes seemed to take years.

There was a sound of someone crying near her ear, harsh, painful cries that broke her heart to listen to.  
There was a tight grip around her body and she could feel herself being rocked gently back and forth.  
Finally, light peeked into her vision.  
She squinted, trying to focus, but all she could see was black.

"Oh, my Christine..." the Voice wept, the grip around her body never loosening.  
She could feel a gloved hand stroking her hair gently, low, indistinguishable whispers muffled against her head.  
Christine tried to speak, but only a soft cough escaped her lips.  
Slowly, she forced her hand to move, touching the arm that was wrapped around her shoulders and giving it a weak squeeze.

The body beside her froze and there was a shifting of weight.  
Then the darkness pulled away, morphing into her Angel's thick black woolen cloak.  
His mask and wig were askew, his eyes red and swollen and the unmarred half of his face was streaked with tears, a slight trickle of snot dripping from his nose.  
He stared at her for a long time, barely even drawing a breath, with a piercing gaze that seemed to go right through her.

 _"Mon Ange_..." Christine managed to gasp out breathlessly, leaning weakly against her Angel's shoulder for support.

A long, strained silence fell over the room.  
Christine couldn't discern the exact expression on her Angel's face, but he was so still that he seemed almost paralyzed.  
Then there was a shuddering gasp and instantly she was drawn into a tight embrace, his cloak seeming to swallow her whole.

"Oh, Christine, Christine..." the masked man sobbed disbelievingly.  
"You're back... you came back..."  
He pressed tearful kisses to her face and hair.  
 _"Je t'aime,_ my Christine _, Je t'aime,"_ he murmured through his tears, causing Christine's heart to burst with joy.  
 _"Je t'aime_ _aussi, Mon Ange,"_ the brunette sighed contentedly.  
 _"Je t'aime_ _aussi."_

Suddenly a startled shriek was heard as Meg, who had just entered the room, dropped the sheet she had been holding at the sight of Christine clearly very much alive, if still rather weak, and raced back out again screaming for _"Maman!"_ at the top of her lungs.  
Christine laughed tiredly and even Erik managed a few half-hearted chuckles.  
Soon, however, her eyelids were drooping closed again and her Angel was easing her back down onto the sheets, singing softly in her ear.  
Just a couple of minutes later, Christine was peacefully asleep and Erik switched from singing to humming as he grasped hold of her hand, glorying in the reassuring warmth.  
Yes, his Angel would recover now, Erik would make certain of it.

 **THE END**


End file.
